


The Orchard

by pinkyapples



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Limbo, Cain (Supernatural) - Freeform, Dark Dean Winchester, Demon Dean Winchester, God as feminine personality, Hell Flashbacks, M/M, Mentions OFC - Lilian, OFC - Amanda, OMC-Dean Jr., This is not a pleasant read-but it ends well, Tortured Castiel, mentions of Supernatural characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkyapples/pseuds/pinkyapples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dean Winchester bears the Mark of Cain, Castiel. And however Righteous his motives, that Mark will eat away at his soul until there is nothing left of the man you raised from perdition.  It is an act of mercy to kill him now and you are the only one who can do it,” God ordered.</p><p>“No!” Castiel backed away from God. “No! I will not do that.”</p><p>... Once Castiel saved Dean from Perdition, now, he must try to do so again.  Claiming Dean's soul from Death's reapers, Castiel finds himself in Limbo. It looks a lot like The Orchard where Dean first met Cain...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Orchard

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for LJ's 2014 Dean/Cas MiniBang.
> 
> Undying Gratitude to my Beta - http://missreneechan.tumblr.com/  
> Who battled bravely with my sloppy use of tense, British slang and author procrastination. Do read her own contribution to DCBB 2014 "Whose Fate is Placed"
> 
> Undying Gratitude to my Artist - http://sharys-aogail.livejournal.com/  
> I love your work and Think it pairs beautifully with the story.
> 
> This is not a pleasant read. It does have a positive ending but to get there you have to (wade) through a quagmire of Hell and the disturbing illusions of Limbo.
> 
> I was not in a good Place when I wrote this, angry both with the direction of the show and real Life. It was supposed to be a gentle exploration of Dean and Castiel with fluffy, vanilla sex. 
> 
> Obviously, it didn't evolve that way. This is by far the darkest and most pornographic story I've written. Despite this, I am pleased with the result.  
> Please, heed the warnings of graphic violence and gore, rape and non-con, they are not polite suggestions.
> 
> Finally - my internet Connection is satan's bitch so this is being posted as an entire work - may be chaptered at later date  
> ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 1: The Road from Perdition

After trying for thirty years, the day had come when Alistair triumphed and Dean had accepted his tutelage. For the next decade, Alistair had guided Dean through the ways of torture. Each soul placed upon the rack required individual attention. Some crumpled due to physical abuse. Others were broken by psychological torment. Some were simply masochistic while others were sadistic. Alistair enjoyed using these souls as guinea pigs, working alongside Dean, twisting his hunter knowledge into new forms of torture.

Sometimes, Dean would release a soul from the rack, only to use them as his personal sex slave. He got a perverse pleasure from forcing the self-righteous hypocrites perform lewd sex acts upon himself or Alistair or forcing them into bestiality.

Hundreds came and went. With each soul, the light of The Righteous Man faded a little more. Alistair was careful not to corrupt Dean past the point of redemption. Lilith was adamant that when Heaven attacked, they retrieve a mostly ‘pure’ soul. It frustrated Alistair because, as splendid a protégé Meg might be, every man wanted a son to carry one the family name. Why should a demon such as he wish anything less?

Still, when the angel did grip Dean and pull him upwards towards the light of Heaven and resurrection on Earth, Alistair was content with the damage done to Dean Winchester’s soul. He doubted even all of Heaven would be enough to cleanse his mark from the boy’s soul. While Castiel flew towards the light, deep within his grace, the bruised and battered soul of Dean Winchester fought against redemption.

 

***

Dean found himself in a white room. He howled abuse at his invisible jailer. What the fuck was Alistair’s problem? Sulking off somewhere in Hell because his protégé’s monthly demon quota outflanked his own impressive number?

 _“Hello, Dean?”_ a voice spoke softly behind him. Dean jerked around to find himself staring into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. A man stood in front of him, about his height, with blue eyes, a shock of black hair and dressed in a white long sleeved kaftan. Against the white background of the room, the kaftan had the effect of making it look like the man was just a talking head, the image appealed to Dean.

“How do you know my name?” Dean asked before he could stop himself.

 _“All of Heaven knows the name of The Righteous Man,”_ the talking head answered.

“Yeah, that so? Hate to burst your bubble, headshot, but you’re in Hell and no white room is gonna change that,” Dean casually replied before lunging towards the floating head.

It surprised him to hit something solid and, in a moment, both he and head were on the floor of the white room. It was flesh and bone, Dean thought. That meant he’d be able to get answers from it. Whether ‘he’ wanted to give them or not.

_“I am not here to fight you, Dean. I am here to save you,” The man said._

Dean didn’t reply, he just kept beating this soul to a pulp. Alistair must have thought a change in décor would put Dean off his game, given his mentor a reason to rape him. Although, truth be told, Dean was beginning to like the violence of Alistair’s touch. Dean stood up and looked around before turning back to the man, who now lay upon a rack with a table of instruments beside him.

 _“You don’t have to do this anymore Dean,”_ the man calmly stated.

“Oh, I rather think I do,” Dean answered and his eyes flashed demonic black. “Because you’re on my rack, idiot. I suppose you’re a dealer? Don’t bother to answer the question, its rhetorical.   One of those smarmy red-eyed bastards give you the whole ‘sure, we’ll help you get to heaven if you just do this for us’ spiel and you bought it. Fucking Holy Rollers, how many of you bastards did my Dad, Sammy and I have to burn because you shits thought you were too good for the here-friggin’-after. I think, I’ll just burn that out of you,” Dean said turning to pick up a convenient red-hot poker.

 _“You will hurt yourself more than you can ever hurt me Dean,”_ the man said. Dean shoved the poker through his eye and into his brain.

The iron glowed white-hot and Dean cried out in surprise and felt pain. In a fit of anger, Dean picked up a meat-cleaver and hammered blows upon the man’s body. The man didn’t scream and the cleaver didn’t cut or bruise.   “Fuck it!!” Dean swore in frustration and kicked over the table spreading the tools of torture across the room.

 _“You are not well, Dean. I am here to heal you. Why do you attack me?”_ the man asked.

“Because it’s my job. Because it’s what I do. Because I’m a demon, you fuckin’ idiot!” Dean seethed, pulling out the, now cool, poker and rammed it down the man’s throat so that it broke through his spine. “Shut-the-fuck-up.”

***

Dean rolled his head, then shoulders and looked around the room to see what next he should use to break this soul’s will. Alistair had apparently given him a true believer. Rare amongst Hell’s inmates, but not unheard of.

Dean hadn’t really paid attention when Alistair was lecturing him on the subject. Probably because the twisted bastard was too busy jacking off while he watched his favourite hellhound lick Dean clean of bacon grease. Alistair loved watching Dean fight his body’s natural reaction to having his balls licked by the hound. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, Alistair would send dog away and take over himself.

Despite himself, Dean would thrust into Alistair’s mouth, his body overriding his mind and its revulsion of Alistair. Dean’s body had its own mind when it came to fucking and Alistair made good use of that instinct. He relished in the groans of protest from Dean’s mouth while his cock swelled inside his mouth, chocking him. His tongue rolled over Dean’s shaft like he was licking an ice-cream cone. The first drop of pre-come made Alistair shiver with delight.

He’d broken off with an obscene slurp and stood up. He smiled salaciously at Dean, who met his gaze with such frustrated anger that Alistair almost came on the spot. Instead, he came to stand behind Dean and force him to look into the mirror that appeared in front of them.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, so good, that you’ll beg for more,” Alistair whispered in Dean’s ear. His hands came around Dean’s torso and pulled him back so that he felt Alistair’s hardening cock against his buttocks and the caress of his hands upon his nipples.

“That right? ‘Cause all I hear is talk,” Dean spat the words out, loathing the way his body betrayed him, loathing the fact that he was starting to enjoy being Alistair’s bitch. Alistair laughed softly and ran one hand down over his body to encircle his cock. The other hand Alistair used to prep Dean. He didn’t bother with lube, just shoved his finger in as deep and roughly as he could. Dean winced in pain and growled in disgust at the intrusion.

Alistair simply thrust another finger into him. He toyed with Dean, squeezing his cock if he got close to coming then gently caressing the pain away. He worked him loose with his fingers and brushed teasingly against the prostate until Dean moaned and pushed back, wanting more and hating himself for his body’s weakness.

Alistair rewarded his admission by taking him in one deep and violent thrust. Dean cried out in pain and groaned in disgusted pleasure as Alistair found his rhythm. He pushed against Dean with such force that Dean had to grasp the mirror to keep from falling. Alistair laughed and grabbing Dean’s hair force him to look while he fucked him.

He forced Dean to watch his own reaction to Alistair’s every thrust and withdrawal. Forced him to watch how his body begged for Alistair’s touch with every groan, ragged breath and curse that spewed from Dean’s mouth.

To watch as Alistair brought them both to orgasm and how Dean screamed with abandonment before the demon within him got the better of Dean, and he flipped around to face Alistair and kissed him violently before fucking his hellish mentor senseless.

***

Dean shook himself free of the memory and refocussed on the man in the white room. To his surprise and intense annoyance, the man seemed totally unaffected by torture. Dean stared long and hard at his victim. A slow malicious smile drifted across his face and his eyes darkened with vicious glee.

“Holy Rollers; too pure in thought, word and deed,” Dean said as he picked up a discarded knife. “You make me sick. Hypocrites; all of you. If your God was so good – why are you in Hell on _my_ rack?”

He slipped the knife under the collar of the man’s smock and ripped it open down to his pelvis. Dean continued to lazily slit and rip the man’s clothing from him while his victim spoke.

“ _I am not here to hurt you Dean. God sent me to redeem you from Hell so that you may continue fighting the Devil and His minions. I am here to heal you, Dean. I am here to save you.”_

“You’re stubborn, Preacher, I’ll give you that. You keep saying you’re not here to hurt _me_? Fine. As for God redeeming me? What makes you so sure I _want_ redemption? Because, it seems to me that if God was so hell-bent on redeeming my sorry ass, he’d have stepped in _before_ Sammy got killed.”

Dean felt the anger rising within him. He flicked off the last of the man’s clothing and pressed the knife point into his flesh, drawing blood. He traced back bloody lines over the man’s body, stabbing the man every now and again to emphasise his words.

“If God was so hell-bent on redeeming me, why didn’t he save my mother from Yellow Eyes? No need for my Dad to go on a lifelong vendetta. No need for me and Sam to be dragged from town to town. No need for us to learn how to fight and kill instead of A,B, friggin’ C’s. No need for my Dad to sell his soul to save me. No need for me to sell my soul to save Sam. NO. FUCKING. NEED. FOR. REDEMPTION. You SANCTIMONIOUS CUNT. FUCK YOUR GOD.”

Dean grabbed the man’s member and cut it off, throwing the useless organ away and driving the knife down into the gaping wound until only the tip of the hilt showed. The man bucked, but didn’t scream. Just looked at Dean with compassion and pity and, damned if Dean was going to acknowledge how it affected him. He wasn’t worth this man’s pity. He was a demon for fuck’s sake.

“ _If you were truly a Demon, Dean Winchester, you would not react as you do. If you were truly a Demon. I would not be here,” The man said with the same calm voice._

Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to the rack. The man was whole again, no surprises there; Hell had a phenomenal healing rate. All the better to torture and twist its prisoners. He remained naked, which did surprise Dean. So he took his time looking at the man. The fury within him had died down but not the desire to wound this stubborn soul. To make him cry out in pain and frustration.

Dean’s gaze drifted down the man’s torso to his naval. There wasn’t an ounce of fat, all lean muscle and just the hint of chest hair. Dark body hair led from his naval down to his pelvis where it burst into a bush of thick pubic hair. His thighs were as lean and muscular as the rest of his body.

“Yeah, more than one way to skin a rabbit,” Dean thought and decided a little “electrical stimulation” would have more of an effect on this soul than blunt force. The room and rack changed to accommodate his needs, a wire appeared above the man’s hips, drawn tight and connected to an electrical switch.

Holding the man’s gaze, Dean ran his hand in teasing circles around the man’s balls and lightly caressed his cock. The man’s gaze never left Dean’s but the hunter could see conflicting emotions playing. He smiled, all gleaming teeth and ran his tongue across them. Dean puffed up like a peacock and stepped back from the man. An involuntary gasp left the man’s mouth, something that seemed to surprise him and made Dean laugh mockingly at him.

He removed his T-Shirt. Holding the man’s gaze, he ran his hands lazily down his chest, tweaking his nipples before running one hand down to cup his crotch as the other played suggestively along the top of his jeans. The man’s eyes darkened and Dean couldn’t tell whether or not they hinted at desire, bewilderment or anger. He thought it probably didn’t matter and took off his jeans and briefs.

He stepped closer to the rack and cupped the man’s balls in his hand. The other hand he cupped around his own member and started to tease it and the man at the same time. Dean didn’t say a word and just let nature take its course. The hum of the electrified wire that ran across the rack, a couple of inches off the man’s pelvis, is the only sound heard.

The man’s gaze hadn’t left Dean’s and the fallen hunter could see confusion, desire and lust fighting to be released. His cock swelling, Dean moved his hand to run it lazily up and down the man’s shaft. His own cock swelled and pre-come was starting to leak out, but Dean focused upon the bound man. He cupped his victim’s balls again, caressing them, and watched as the pre-come started to leak out as the man’s cock twitched.

Dean knew the man was seconds away from being electrocuted and there was the briefest of moments when Dean thought that he shouldn’t do this, not to this man.

The man’s cock twitched again and made contact with the electrified wire across his pelvis. His entire body arched as the electricity passed through him and continued to do so as the aftershocks kept his cock hard and in contact with the wire.

Dean watched with a sense of satisfaction at the efficiency of the torture, and dissatisfaction that he wasn’t riding out the aftershocks.

Then the man spoke, _“If pleasuring me allows me to heal you, then you should do so.”_

Dean stared at the man. Then he punched him. Then he tossed the joy division into the corner of the room and mounted the rack.

“Who said anything about pleasuring you? You’re gonna pleasure me! Here, you’re my bitch,” Dean boasted.

Dean ghosted his hands down the man’s torso, teasing his nipples. He moved so he was sitting with his balls just above the man’s hardening cock. He rocked just enough to tease them and created a surprisingly pleasant sensation. He moved again so they were rutting gently, lazily against each other.

Dean could feel the man move underneath him, straining against the constraints, wanting to free his arms and legs. Dean wouldn’t let him. Whatever this started out as, Dean was beginning to enjoy himself. He kissed the man, a long, slow exploratory kiss and judged the man’s skill and experience. He tasted of rainwater and smelled like damp earth after a ~~rain~~ storm.   His tongue copied Dean’s, teasing and tasting lick for lick and it gave Dean the filthiest of ideas.

He broke off kissing and lowered himself down over the man’s cock. Keeping eye contact with the man, he took him into his mouth, just the head. Licking him over like he was a Dairy Queen cone. Dean teased the man until pre-cum droplets pearled on the tip of his cock. His laugh echoed and vibrated against the man’s cock and Dean swallowed him whole. He drew his lips up almost to the tip of the head then swallowed him whole again, keeping the rhythm slow and controlled until the man started making that surprised gasping sound again.

Dean pulled off with a loud slurp and smiled up at the man. “Yep, definitely desire and frustration brimming in those baby-blues,” Dean thought smugly. He flipped around so that his cock was just above the man’s mouth. “Come on, show me what you learned,” he challenged before lowering himself into the man’s open ~~ing~~ mouth.

“Holy Shit!” Dean thought as he struggled to control himself. His Holy Roller was a quick learner and Dean felt his cock ooze a droplet of precome into the man’s mouth. “Not so fast, gonna hear you beg first.”

Dean took the man’s cock into his mouth again and they found a tandem rhythm of licking, sucking and nipping each other’s members until both their mouths are a mess of saliva and pre-come. Dean shifted and pulled the man’s leg until he could get a hand around his ass to fondle his balls. There was a gasp of surprise from the man, followed by a low moan of pleasure that vibrated around Dean’s cock and nearly made him come.

Dean laughed, as much as a mouthful of cock allowed him to, and pushed a finger into the man’s ass. Dean gagged a little as the man reacted but he didn’t budge and stuck another finger in, alongside the first. The man moaned again and copied Dean so that soon his own balls were being teased. Holy shit, that tongue! Dean let his own moan of pleasure escape his lips. He wanted more and the rack knew because, soon, he felt a tentative hand ghost up and over his ass and a finger gently tease around his own hole.

It’s on then.

They prod and poked each other’s asses with fingers, then lips, then tongues all the while working each other’s cocks until the sensation was too much and the man came in Dean’s mouth with Dean’s fingers deep in his ass, teasing his prostrate. Dean comes soon after and they lie, exhausted, breathing heavily upon each other’s stomach. Dean could hear the man swallow his come and it made him shiver with delight. He didn’t return the favour.

What he did was start to shudder uncontrollably. He tried to make himself stop, but it was as if his body and mind have mutinied against his will. When he felt tears well as he tried to move, tried to get away from the sudden warmth of the man under him. But he couldn’t stop shaking and he couldn’t stop the damned tears and he couldn’t stop the howling despair that ripped from his lungs and exploded from his mouth in great gasping sobs.

So he didn’t try to. He just continued to shudder and shake and howl uncontrollably for what felt like an eternity.

When he finally stopped, he realised that he was alone in the white room. It was as empty as Dean felt and the man was gone. Dean wondered if he ever existed. It’d be just like Alistair to stage an elaborate hoax, to drive him towards feeling and experiencing something halfway human and right just to pull the carpet from underneath him, leaving him bloody, bruised and ashamed.

 _“Hello, Dean.”_ The man was standing in front of him.

He didn’t leave.

Dean wasn’t alone.

The man said, “ _Will you let me heal you now?”_

Dean felt too numb and defeated to argue and just nodded. The man came closer, and, reaching out, enveloped him in a hug. Heat radiated from the man’s body and, with it, a hundred different memories of his life are released from Dean’s subconscious.

He saw and felt Sam giving him the necklace around his neck, his lucky pendant.

He saw and felt one of the rare, honest-to-goodness, father and son outings. John was laughing and enjoying watching his sons play.

He saw and felt the sweetness of kissing Amanda Heckerling, and how good that weekend with Lisa Braeden made him feel.

He saw, felt and remembered teaching Sam to drive, teaching Sam how to hustle pool, watching Sam leave for Stanford and the pain of wishing him luck, meeting Sam and Jessica at Stanford, and helping Sam work through his grief after her death.

He saw, felt and remembered the hunters he’d known and loved as family; Pastor Jim, Caleb, Ellen and Jo Harvelle, Ash and Bobby.

He saw, felt and remembered, and with every memory came a burning feeling within his soul as the stain and corruption of Hell was burned away by the love Dean felt.

_“It’s time for you to return to the land of living, Dean Winchester. You shall not remember this white room. I have done all I can to heal you. In time, you will remember your time in Hell but your brother will be there to help bear your burden, just as you will help him carry his burden. You are worthy of redemption, Dean. This, you will come to believe. Sleep now.”_

Dean woke with a start and found himself in a box. Not a box, a coffin. It took a second to realise it was _his_ coffin. It was flimsily built and that was the only good thing about it. With difficulty, he punched through the wood and dug himself out. When he stood up and looked around, it was as if he stood at ground zero of an atomic explosion. Trees were flattened for a mile around him and the earth was baked. “What the fuck?” Dean said aloud, then began the long walk towards life, Bobby and Sam.

A Sort of Reunion

Bobby lay unconscious on the floor of the barn. The thing in front of him stared at him and remarked casually that Bobby was alive.

Its tone pissed Dean off, allowed him to recover from shock and ask, “Who are you?!”

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition, Castiel,” the thing stated.

“Yeah, I figured that much. I mean, what are you?” Dean demanded.

“I’m an Angel of the Lord,” the thing answered.

“Get the Hell out of here. There’s no such thing,” Dean growled, his whole body tensing, ready to fight.

“This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith,” the thing stated.

It took a step back. There was a flash of lightning and the air seemed to be sucked out of the barn. Dean stared as great shadowy wings unfurled from the thing’s back and stretched out and through the barn’s back wall. There was another flash of light, a black-out and then just Dean and the thing taking the measure of each other.

Dean jerked back his head and almost dared this ‘angel’ to smite him. “Right. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?”

The thing did something so unexpected it threw the hunter completely off his game. It moved forward into his personal space.

“Good things do happen, Dean,” it said.

“Not in my experience,” Dean replied and hardly noticed that he’d lowered his weapon.

“What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be saved?” the thing asked in a quiet voice that sent shivers through Dean’s body.

Dean felt something spark and ignite deep within him, a warm sensation that flowed through him. No-one had ever showed belief in Dean before as a man. As a Hunter, sure, but never as a man. It was unsettling, yet, strangely comforting and familiar. Dean’s subconscious decided it liked this feeling. It decided it liked this Castiel and that this Castiel should be part of its world.

It would take a lifetime before Dean could consciously accept and embrace what his subconscious had long ago decided was fact. They loved Castiel. Their friendship was fraught with sceptical belief and sarcasm, begrudging respect, betrayal, insanity, recklessness and an uncompromising belief that each was created to save others and never themselves.

God could not have made a more perfect couple had He tried. Which probably explained why it was God, The Mother, who finally made them see sense and not God, The Father.

 

Chapter 2: The Return of The Queen

Castiel had not wanted to become leader of yet another faction of angels in yet another civil war amongst the angelic host. He was sick to death of war, sick to death of leadership being forced upon him, and sick to death of being kept away from Sam and Dean Winchester by the antics of his ‘family’.

Yet, here he was, facing a rag-tag collection of earthbound angels looking to him for guidance. He was trying to explain to them for the umpteenth time that they had to adjust to living on earth, living amongst humans and helping them in any way they could until the gates of heaven were re-opened to them.

The angels wanted war. Castiel was convinced they didn’t care who they were fighting as long as they were fighting. As he listened to the debate, Castiel began to wonder whether he should have just obliterated the entire heavenly host during his delusional godhood, instead of just Raphael and his followers.

“I ask myself that same question on a daily basis,” a voice said. Castiel looked to his left and saw a woman standing there.

“What question?” Castiel asked.

“Whether or not I should obliterate angel and man and start again,” the woman replied. “But then I’d have to create another to look after heaven and earth, and for the life of me, I can’t come up with a better alternative.”

Castiel stared at the woman. She was human. He could sense that, but there was something more to her. She turned to him and smiled shyly, then turned back to the arguing angels in front of them. Castiel didn’t. He kept staring at the woman and now he began to see a hint of power radiating about her. He watched her as a growing sense of dread began to crawl up his feet towards his heart and, finally, his head.

“God?” He asked in a small voice, hardly daring to hope that this was true. He was terrified and, at the same time, furious that it could possibly be true.

“Yes.” The woman turned to him and smiled.

“I have work for you Castiel, something only you can do,” God said, and touching Castiel’s arm, made them disappear from the meeting. The other angels didn’t notice, too caught up in their argument. They reappeared at the tree line surrounding Colette’s grave and watched as Dean buried Cain with his wife.

“ _Dean Winchester bears the Mark of Cain, Castiel. And however Righteous his motives, that Mark will eat away at his soul until there is nothing left of the man you raised from perdition. It is an act of mercy to kill him now and you are the only one who can do it,”_ God ordered.

“No!” Castiel backed away from God. “No! I will not do that.”

God looked with compassion upon Castiel. “You cannot change this, Castiel. I will not allow it this time. Dean Winchester must die and his soul will be claimed by Hell.”

“No!” Castiel said again and came to stand facing God. “I will not allow that.”

“No? His soul will not be as it was when you claimed him from Hell the first time, Castiel. The Mark of Cain Dean so recklessly agreed to bear does not follow the same rules as a crossroads deal. It makes him a Knight of Hell; the Henchman of Hell’s ruler. Originally of Lucifer, but since his incarceration, the henchman to whoever rules Hell,” God explained without malice.

“I don’t care,” Castiel stated. “And why should I listen to you? You abandoned us. You let them start the Apocalypse. I looked for you everywhere, begged and prayed for your help to stop them! You abandoned us! I don’t have to listen to you!”

God listened as Castiel vented his frustrations upon Her, himself, Dean and the angels. When the angel was finally quiet, she spoke.

“Not every Apocalypse is aimed at ending the world, Castiel. I needed to remove myself from Heaven, Earth and even Hell to allow the grievances of your brothers and sisters to play out. I needed to see who would prevail, who would rise to their best, who would fall as Lucifer once fell.”

“Then why am I still in existence? I, who worked with demons and murdered my siblings. Or is my punishment eternal resurrection?” Castiel asked.

A genuine smile of amusement spread across God’s face. She patted Castiel fondly on the cheek.

“You have a job to do Castiel. We’ll talk about whether or not you deserve further punishment when you’ve completed your task and killed Dean Winchester,” God said in a voice that allowed no further argument on the subject. She expected Castiel to do what he was told.

Castiel said nothing, just looked out towards where Dean was now rubbing off the dirt from his hands after burying Cain and Colette’s ashes. He was already planning how he could save his friend’s soul, regardless of what it cost himself. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he had disobeyed God’s orders.

Castiel vanished, leaving God standing alone. She allowed herself a smile, Castiel would now do what She needed him to do in order to rein in the chaos heaven had found itself in.

Once Dean had again picked up The First Blade and vanished, she walked over to Cain and Colette’s grave. She touched the tombstone and closed her eyes. The gentlest of winds blew across the small field as she sent their souls to heaven.

God spent the following week inconspicuously roaming the earth. She gathered the disembodied host back to her bosom, greatly reducing recruitment by the earthbound warring factions. She walked amongst her earthbound celestial children gauging the fanaticism of those warring factions.

She finished what Sam could not and closed the gates of Hell. Demons still roamed the world, but none could escape Hell or be summoned from The Pit. It put the angelic and demonic forces roaming the earth, more or less, in balance.

She visited Purgatory and closed any backdoors into Hell, she was tempted to annihilate the Leviathan, but decided against it. There would come a time when they would need to once again roam the earth. Just as there would come a time for the true apocalypse and judgement of mankind.

Supernatural housekeeping done, God turned her attention back to the Winchesters and their reckless guardian angel. She knew what Castiel planned. Now, all she had to do was ensure Sam didn’t pull a typical Winchester _mea culpa, mea maximus culpa_ and throw yet more spanners in the celestial clockworks.

*** *** ***

Chapter 3: Cain Falls and Dean Rises

Dean Winchester has just killed Abaddon, the last Knight of Hell. He was now the master of The First Blade. He heard, in his mind, the voice of Cain calling him back to his orchard, calling Dean to collect on the promise he undertook when Cain passed along the Mark of Cain.  

Dean vanished from the room just as Sam entered. Abaddon breathed her last breath and Sam heard the garbled name “Cain” slip from her lips.

Cain lived in a backwoods town of no name in Missouri. He had lived there for over a century, since the death of his wife, Colette. The townsfolk knew him as “the beekeeper,” and he sold his honey and fruit from the orchard at the local co-operative shop. Dean Winchester and a demon called Crowley were the only two who knew his true identity.

Cain was tending his bees when he heard Dean approach through the orchard. The hunter walked with purpose and Cain felt pity for him. He turned and watched his executioner close the last few metres between them.

“You killed Abaddon,” Cain stated. Dean nodded.

“Good. Now you will become me,” Cain said and again felt pity. Whether it was for himself or the man in front of him, he wasn’t sure.

“No, I’ll still be me,” Dean replied but they both know that it was a lie. Dean could already feel his humanity falling away from him and a faint smell of sulphur upon his skin.

Cain dug around in his overall pocket and passed a piece of paper to Dean. Dean read it, then shoved it in his jean pocket.

“I can do that,” he said and stabbed Cain in the heart with the First Blade with such force that he lifted Cain three feet off the ground.

Dean expected Cain to combust from the inside just like Abaddon had, but all he did was grunt once and bleed out like a stuck pig. Dean pulled the knife from Cain and he collapsed onto the ground.

He looked upon the corpse with cold eyes then picked it up, slung it over his shoulders and teleported to where Cain’s human wife lies, buried. He dropped Cain’s body on the ground and, with it, The First Blade.

Without the Blade in his hands, Dean’s humanity had a chance to fight its way through to his consciousness. It hit Dean like one of Castiel’s angel punches. Dean leaned over and vomited. He kept doing so until it was just painful dry-retching. He straightened up and looked around him, clear-headed after the demonic blood-lust of the Blade.

Cain lay beside him, and Colette’s grave was beside Cain. Dean retrieved the paper from his pocket and re-read it. It explained why he was here and as he glanced back at Cain’s body and saw the First Blade lying next to it. Dean understands how he got here.

He put the paper back into his pocket and walked over to Colette’s grave.

He stood in front of the headstone for a long time. It was twilight when he knelt down in front of it and started digging with his bare hands. For some reason, it felt right to bury Cain with his wife. It also felt right that Dean dig their grave with his hands only.

It took him all night to dig down to Colette’s coffin. He placed Cain’s body upon the coffin and then realised he didn’t have any salt, lighter fluid or matches to finish the job.

Dean didn’t know where he was and he didn’t want to touch the First Blade again, but there was no helping it. He wanted to honor Cain properly, as a hunter, as ‘The Hunter’. For some reason, this was important to him.

So he took up the knife, felt its corrosive power take hold and teleported back to Cain’s farm. He gathered what he needed and, using the knife again, teleported back to Cain and Colette’s grave.

He threw the knife down, salted and burned Cain and Colette’s remains, and covered the ashes back with dirt, leaving the tombstone standing guard over their resting place.

He picked up the shovel, gas can and blade and teleported back to Cain’s farmhouse. He used Cain’s bathroom to clean up and changed into some of Cain’s clothing. He pulled the crumpled piece of paper with the co-ordinates of Colette’s grave written on it and threw it onto the kitchen table.

He picked up the blade and gas can and went into the backyard. He burned his own bloody, dirtied clothes, put the gas can back in Cain’s garden shed and then left “The Orchard”.

It wasn’t only blood-lust that the First Blade conferred upon its bearer.   An all-consuming numbness settled over Dean. He was aware of where he was and what he was doing, he just didn’t _feel_ what he was doing. The only thing that made him feel any sort of emotion was the need for violence. Whether it be physical, psychological or sexual.  

As long as Dean carried or used the Blade he acted in accordance to his demonic persona and Dean seemed to accept this fate as inevitable.

His brother and Castiel thought differently. They would do anything to stop him becoming Hell’s First Knight and Chief Henchman. That the way they would help save Dean would lead them on a journey of parallels, never crossed either’s mind. However, “God moves in mysterious ways” and to save Dean from Cain’s curse one of them would have to learn to live and the other would sacrifice everything for love.

 

Sam: A Man with a Mission

Sam was a man with a mission. A mission to find Dean and stop him for wreaking demonic-induced havoc upon the population. As he left the room where Dean had killed Abbadon, he’d prayed to Castiel to help him find Dean.

Castiel answered by transporting Sam back to the bunker and delivering Crowley to him for questioning.

Between the two of them, they forced the demon to reveal the truth about the First Blade: The fact that Dean would become a demon, worse, _the henchman_ for Hell’s Ruler. Crowley crowed triumphantly when he told the angel and hunter that Dean had already killed Cain, therefore sealing the deal and now belonged to Hell.

“More specifically, me, since now said crown belongs once again upon my head,” Crowley said smugly. Sam decapitated him for his trouble. Scarlet smoke poured out of the headless body and out of the dungeon room. Sam looked around and was startled to see Castiel standing at the edge of the broken devils trap. The angel knelt down and repaired the damage.

“What the Hell, Cas?” Sam yelled at him and punched him in the face. He wrung his hands in pain as Castiel answered.

“Crowley will get his due, Sam. We need him free to be able to track Dean,” Castiel explained.

“Is it true?” Sam looked at the angel, wanting him to deny Crowley’s statements about the First Blade and Dean’s fate to be lies.

“Yes. Sam,” Castiel hesitated to speak further and simply stood looking at Sam. Sam felt his soul being weighed and judged. He started to fidget uncomfortably.

“I am ordered to kill Dean,” Castiel said at last and Sam stumbled back in shock and confusion.

“Who by?” he asked as he struggled to regain his equilibrium.

“God,” Castiel said.

“BULLSHIT!” Sam yelled grabbing Castiel by the lapels and spinning him around with such violence that he landed in the lap of Cowley’s decapitated meatsuit.

“BULLSHIT! God doesn’t exist!” Sam fumed and stormed out of the room.

Castiel followed his route by listening to the furniture tossed about until he heard Sam collapse against the kitchen wall and begin to sob. Sam didn’t pay attention to Castiel as he approached. He didn’t acknowledge him when he sat down beside him.

“I won’t do it Sam. I refuse to believe that Dean Winchester is beyond redemption. That God would want Hell to be his reward for all the good he, and you, have done. I don’t know how I will, but I shall,” Castiel spoke with quiet conviction. Sam smiled a little and lifted his head from his knees. Leaning back against the kitchen wall he sighed.

“I know you will find a way Castiel and I’ll help you. Dean never gave up on either of us, no matter how much we both messed up.” He pushed himself up from the floor and extended a hand to Castiel.

“Neither did you Sam, I never thanked you for what you did when my hubris led me down the path to hell.” Castiel said taking the offered hand and letting Sam help him up from the floor.

“Yeah? Well, you’re family, besides you and Dean are “profoundly bonded” so you have to save him,” Sam mumbled awkwardly, not used to such candour from the angel.

Sam went about righting the furniture he’d knocked over, Castiel watching him with a closed expression. He already had an idea regarding ‘how’ he was going to save Dean. Unfortunately, for it to work, he would have to betray Sam’s trust in him once again.

Castiel hoped that Sam would forgive him once Dean was returned to him free of Cain’s curse and The First Blade.

*** *** ***

 

Chapter 4: The Curse of the First Blade

Crowley wasted no time putting his henchman to work. The trail of demonic corpses was easily tracked by both Sam and Castiel. Sam wondered why Castiel didn’t intercede between kills but the angel only said the timing wasn’t right. Sam knew Castiel had something planned and knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth, but he trusted Castiel not to hurt Dean. Castiel loved Dean with all that he had and Sam believed Dean felt the same. It was part of the reason the two of them clashed so often.

Even so, Sam was not prepared for what happened next.

They had tracked Crowley and Dean to St. Louis but got separated following a skirmish between Crowley and some of his demonic goons. Dean slipped from the foray and Castiel followed.

***

Coming down from the blood-lust the Blade induced made Dean vulnerable to brief relapses of humanity and Castiel believed that it was during this time that he had the best chance of capturing Dean’s soul. Because it was Dean’s soul that he needed to redeem, to save, rather than his physical body. This was what he couldn’t explain to Sam and perhaps he didn’t want to.

The angel watched the hunter stalk his prey through the cities back alleys. Stripped of all morality, acting only on primal instinct and feral need he toyed with his prey, lulling it into a false sense of security before plunging the knife deep into its chest.

As he watched the hunter, Castiel thought back to his conversation with God, Herself, as they watched Dean bury Cain.

_“Dean Winchester bears the Mark of Cain, Castiel, and however Righteous his motives, that Mark will eat away at his soul until there is nothing left of the man you raised from perdition. It is an act of mercy to kill him now and you are the only one who can do it.”_

Castiel hadn’t believed it then, and he didn’t believe it now.   He still had time to prove God wrong. That Dean was redeemable, even if the hunter had renounced all hope of forgiveness from his brother, from the angel and, most importantly, from himself.

Castiel chose to believe that God meant him to once again redeem Dean’s soul. To save The Righteous Man from himself as much as the Mark of Cain and by doing so, prove to God that Castiel, himself, was worthy of redemption. Worthy enough of God’s love. That he was an Angel of The Lord, in its truest sense.

Castiel returned his attention to the hunter.   He texts Sam his location and waits until the time is right to strike the fatal blow that will allow him a chance at saving Dean’s soul.

***

Dean stood over the kill with the bloodied First Blade and swayed as the power of Cain’s Mark coursed through his veins. Killing demons had always satisfied him, he hated the bastards and plunging Cain’s blade into Abbadons remaining demonic allies was satisfaction guaranteed.

Dean felt he should howl, proclaim his success to the night and mark his territory. But as he lifted his head to do so, something small and sharp pricked at the back of his sub-consciousness.

Something about this kill is not right. It’s enough that it brings him down from the high and forces him to remember. He’s just killed a man. That’s nothing unusual these days. Killing is what he does. He kills often and without remorse. Still, something about this kill is not right.

Because the body lying on the ground is a not a monster or demon.   If he wasn’t a monster, then he was man. Men are just as evil as monsters and demons. There’s a sharper prick at the back of his sub-conscious, pushing him to question why he killed this man. There’s something vaguely familiar about the annoying little prick.

Dean looked at the bloodied jaw-bone knife in his hand. He saw the Mark of Cain glowing upon his arm.   The sharp little prick of remorse finally breaks through from Dean’s sub-conscious to his conscious mind and with it Dean remembers what just happened, and why, and shudders.

Dean had killed an innocent man. Dean has committed murder.

He looks down at Cain’s mark upon his arm and realises what he has become. What he had hunted all his life. He was a monster, an abomination, a demon.   Dean lifted his head and howled his horror into the night.

Dean doesn’t have time to react as someone grabs and twists the arm holding the First Blade and with one swift motion forces Dean to stab himself in the stomach.

***

 

Castiel moved back to allow Dean’s body to fall to the ground. He heard Sam bring the Impala to a screeching halt at the mouth of the alley. Castiel bent to touch Dean’s forehead just as Sam rushed down the alley.

Castiel moved back into the shadows. He watched as Sam tried to save Dean. He heard him scream for help, heard him breakdown and sob over the broken body of his brother. He listened to Sam’s desperate prayers pleading for Castiel to come save his brother. But he cannot, not this time. For Dean to be saved, he has to die first.

So Castiel watched as a tenant from one of the surrounding buildings opened the door onto the alley and came out. The tenant looked for the garbage bin. He saw Sam, saw the body of Dean’s victim and calls 911.

Sam didn’t see or hear the tenant, but he heard the approaching sirens. He pulled himself together enough that when the police arrived on the scene he had a plausible cover story for the mess they find. Riding in the ambulance, Sam sends out one desperate prayer to Castiel.

The angel doesn’t reply.

***

At the hospital, Dean Winchester, the hunter, is pronounced dead.   Castiel stands invisible and watches Sam.   Castiel knows that he has to make sure Sam doesn’t follow the tried and true way of a Winchester and use supernatural means to resurrect Dean.

He will do what he can to help Sam mourn and move on. He will do what he can to see that Sam _lives_ his _own_ life.

Then, when it was time for Sam Winchester, the hunter, to die, Castiel would tell him the truth.

Castiel is not looking forward to confronting Sam. Fortunately for him, somebody else intercedes on his behalf and helps Sam see the possibility of life without Dean.

*** *** ***

Chapter5: The Way Forward, Begins with Goodbye

Sam had seen too many morgues. He had seen, too often, the professional face of sympathy directed at those family or friends asked to identify the dead. He had been the one using that face too many times to count. So, when the attendant coroner on duty turned her face towards him in schooled professional sympathy and asked him to identify the body on the slab as that of his brother, it is all he can do not to rip her heart out with his bare hands.

“Mr. Winchester?” the coroner gently prompted.

“Yes. This is my brother,” Sam hoarsely muttered and then stepped back from the coroner’s table. What the hell was he going to do now? Where would he even start?

“Was your brother a donor?” the coroner prompted.

“No!” Sam couldn’t help the tone of horror that creeps into his voice.

“I’ll give you some time alone then? I’ll be in my office,” the coroner said and left the living with the dead.

Sam stared down at Dean’s body. He’d been in a fugue state for the last forty-eight hours and it was only now, standing in this sterile room with the irrefutable evidence of Dean’s death, which he can start to feel. And what he feels is fury.

Fury towards Castiel because the angel hadn’t returned any of his prayers. Sam could accept that if it was himself he was praying to the winged nut for help for. But this is Dean, the human Castiel was supposed to have some sort of mysterious dimension-crossing profound bond with and the angel wasn’t there. Sam was going to kill him. He had a trunk full of angel blades and grief enough to do it, damn the consequences to himself.

His fury was also directed at Dean himself and his life-long assumption that his job was to look after Sam and save everybody else’s life but his own. That he never gave a damn about himself long enough to see what Sam always saw clearly. That he was a better man than their father could have hoped to have been and that he had more love and life to give than Sam himself. That he was worthy of being loved as deeply by somebody as he had loved Sam.

But mostly his fury was directed towards God for ripping Dean away from his childhood and throwing him into a life from which he never recovered. Sam looked upon the body of his beloved brother and wished that the taint of demon blood still ran through his veins, because he wanted to rip the world apart and bring his brother back to life.

He wanted them to end as friends and brothers and not as the estranged roommates that this last death made a reality.

“Cas?” Sam asked quietly into the empty room. “Where are you?”

***

There was that sound of wings settling back into place. Sam turned to lecture the angel only to stand and stare open-mouthed at the familiar woman in front of him. His mind and body short-circuited for a second before he found his voice again and spoke, “You were dead!”

“Yes,” The woman calmly answered. She looked and sounded like Castiel’s former lieutenant, Rachel. But Sam knew that was impossible because Castiel had killed Rachel when she threatened to expose his dealings with Crowley during the last Heavenly civil war.

“What are you?” Sam asked, Ruby’s knife in his hand and ready to fight.

“Not a demon. I am here to offer you advice. Direct from God if you will. Do not do it,” ‘Rachel’ replied calmly.

“What?” Sam’s mind drew a blank and he couldn’t quite decide if it was the casual mention of God or the “do not do it” that gave him pause.

“How are you the brighter of the two Winchesters?” ‘Rachel’ gently teased and smiled. Something about her tone and demeanour didn’t match up with the one and only encounter with her that Sam remembered.

“Why bring you back?” he asked instead.

“God thought a familiar angelic face would work in “Her” favour,” ‘Rachel’ said and her tone hinted at much more power than any angel should possess.

“Her favour?” Sam quirked an eyebrow at that and lowered the knife. “Do not do what?”

“Do not try to bring your brother back from the dead. It is not your job to save him,” ‘Rachel’ explained.

“Then whose “job” is it? Castiel’s? Because,” Sam gestured around the empty morgue, “He didn’t do a good job of it, did he?”

“Which is more important to you Sam, Dean’s body or his soul?” ‘Rachel’ asked.

Sam opened and closed his mouth several times and then, with a sense of defeat replied, “His soul”

“Castiel has appointed himself the impossible task of trying to save Dean’s soul. He goes against God’s direct order,” ‘Rachel’ said matter-of-factly.

“You believe Castiel will fail? God believes my brother deserves Hell” Sam asked.

“God believes Castiel has given himself a near impossible task to accomplish,” ‘Rachel’ said and Sam could again hear that gently teasing tone in her voice.

“You’re not an angel either, are you?” Sam whispered. Could he be in the presence of God? And if so, what did that mean for Dean? For Castiel?

“Not usually, but today I am,” came the reply.

“You really believe Castiel will fail?” Sam asked again.

“Most likely,” ‘Rachel’ replied and came to stand beside him. Looking down at Dean’s body she asked Sam if he would like her to dress and bless his body ready for buriel.

“I don’t want to bury him,” Sam stated.

“Nobody does want to bury a loved one but it is part of _human life_ to be born, live and then die. Would you deny Dean that just because you and he were estranged when he died? Do you not think he knew how you truly felt about him?” ‘Rachel’ said, moving to stand opposite him.

“I know how I feel about Dean,” Sam said.

The angel, or perhaps, God, nodded and produced an urn of sweet smelling oil. She dipped her hands into it and let the excess run off before lifting Dean’s arm and massaging the oil over his skin. Sam followed suit.

No words were spoken and Sam found the simple act of preparing Dean for burial had washed away his fury until, at the last, he could let his grief have its voice.   He cried. The tears were not only for Dean but for himself, the life that they both had led and the cost such a life has wrung from their bodies and souls.

‘Rachel’ waited until the last tear had fallen and then she teleported Sam and Dean’s body to the bunker. Sam built a funeral pyre and they kept vigil until there was nothing but ash upon the ground.

‘Rachel’ returned to the hospital and gave the coroner the necessary paperwork claiming Dean’s brother had removed his body for private cremation. The coroner checked it, stamped it and filed it. Dean Winchester was officially, and physically, dead.

 

Chapter 6: On a Road to Nowhere

Orchard, Missouri didn’t exist. Neither did Jasper Springs, Missouri, but both are real places, if out of time with the rest of the world. All that remains of Jasper Springs is the rotting foundations of a civil war cabin and a tombstone.

The village of Orchard had a convenience store which acted as the village’s garage and post office as well. There was a chapel and adjoining cemetery, both sadly neglected the town hall was opposite the chapel.

There were five houses in Orchard, the store owner and his wife lived in one. The Chaplin lived in another. The village mechanic and his family lived in a third and the various members of the Chaplin’s congregation lived in the fourth house. The fifth house was vacant.

“The Orchard” was a farm about a mile down the road from the convenience store and the village had grown up around it sometime during the last century. “The Beekeeper” lived there and apart from supplying honey and fruit to the store, nobody knew his real name or family history. All that was known was that he was an Apiarist and the farm gave the village its name.

While the village may only house a population of eleven, twelve if one included “The Beekeeper”, it catered to a rag-tag extended population of about one hundred. Orchard attracted lost souls the way nectar attracts bees. Most were refugees from a world they no longer understood.

Orchard, Missouri doesn’t exist, but if it did, its location would be somewhere north of Waynesville, south of Dixon, alongside the Gasconade River.  

***

It was evening when Sam pulled up to the gas pump to fill ‘Baby’. He didn’t know where he was and didn’t particularly care. It had been a month since Dean had died.

Surrounded by the stillness of the Bunker Sam thought back to his encounter with the strange angel who called herself ‘Rachel’. According to her, God, didn’t want him to try and save Dean. That task had been left to Castiel. Sam wasn’t completely convinced that the entire conversation wasn’t a grief-induced hallucination.

In the past he would have ignored the advice and found a way to bring Dean back from whatever dimension his soul now resided. However, something was different this time.   This time, Sam didn’t have a sense of urgency, or guilt, or addiction that could only be sated by Dean’s return. Sam didn’t know how he felt about that and the more he thought, the less he knew.

He couldn’t imagine continuing hunting without Dean and the Bunker, for him, had never felt like a home. It was easier to call around the few hunters he was in regular contact with, tell them Dean was dead and that he would contact them if and when he felt like hunting. Then he had locked up the bunker, buried the key with Dean’s ashes and drove off into the metaphorical sunset.

***

He drove without thought, letting the Impala guide him. He ate when needed, slept when needed, tended ‘Baby’s’ needs and occasionally wondered if putting in an iPod jack would irk Dean enough to come back and haunt him.

Somehow, he ended up in Missouri. Somehow, he ended up in Orchard needing fuel the same time The Chaplin’s minivan pulled into the garage section of the convenience store.

Sam gave a cursory glance towards the new arrivals, counted five and what looked like a mongrel dog and then refocused on filling the Impala’s tank.

The Chaplin was the last to get out of the minivan and as he turned to stretch his legs, he noticed the Impala and her driver. He stood looking at the man for a long time and it wasn’t until the man turned to leave that The Chaplin remembered his name.

“Sam Winchester?”

Sam jumped at the sound of his name and spun around, senses on high alert. There was a man walking towards him. There was something familiar about him, but Sam couldn’t place who, where or when. The man answered all questions for him upon introduction.

“Pastor Gideon, Blue Earth, Minnesota. You and your brother saved our town, saved me.” Gideon held out his hand and Sam automatically shook it.

As he did, he finally connected the dots and remembered, Leah Gideon. The Whore of Babylon had taken the form of the Pastor’s daughter and her false prophesies had damned half the town’s residents to Hell and would have dragged the entire town down into the pit if she’d lived. Dean had killed her and saved the rest of the town’s population.

“Dean not with you?” Gideon asked, breaking Sam’s reverie.

“No,” Sam answered.

“Out working a case is He?” Gideon asked hearing the hesitation in the younger man’s reply.

“No,” Sam said. He looked through Gideon for a moment then added, “He died. Month ago.”

Gideon nodded but said nothing, an awkward silence followed. Somebody called to him from the store and the awkward silence between the two men was broken.

“I live here now, if you’d like to rest tonight, there’s room at the house. Last on the left before you leave,” Gideon said and walked off towards the store.

Sam watched him then got in and drove off. He was twenty miles out of Orchard when he realised that he had no place to go and that he didn’t feel like sleeping another night in the car. So, with some trepidation, he turned the car around and decided to take Gideon up on his offer.

And so, Orchard, Missouri, gained a thirteenth resident.

*** *** ***

Chapter 7: Limbo is a White Room

Upon his death, Castiel wrapped Dean’s soul deep within his grace and slipped in to the mists of Limbo. Limbo is a fluid and abstract dimension, its surroundings changing to suit the needs of the souls who find themselves trapped there by the changing beliefs of the living. Because of its nature, Limbo is rarely visited by either demon or angel.

Within this realm, Castiel hoped to redeem, not only Dean’s soul but his own worth as an angel and a friend. Some instinct told him that if he believed himself worthy of redemption, Dean would begin to believe such a thing possible for himself.

It would be a battle of wills. Castiel’s stubborn desire to rescue a man he loved above even God and Dean’s stubborn sense of self-loathing and martyrdom.

To do this, Castiel placed Dean in an environment similar to that which he’d been held in during his flight out of Hell. He also began each session by asking Dean a simple question.

“Do you _really_ believe yourself unworthy of redemption?” To which Dean would answer, “Yes” Dean would ask Castiel whether he believed himself worthy of redemption? Castiel would reply in the affirmative and both men would engage in a battle of wills until Dean, inevitably, got tired of the game and killed Castiel.

The white room would re-set itself and the questioning and battle of wills would begin again.

***

One Thousand Days

Dean pulled the blade from Castiel’s prone body, wiped the blood from it and waited. He looked around the room, awash with blood, flesh and bone fragments. A sea of dead Castiels lay before him and Dean wondered what it would take for the stubborn angel to realise his soul wasn’t worth redeeming and that his afterlife belonged in Hell.

There was a shudder from the corpse on the floor. Dean let out a frustrated sigh and turned to face Castiel. The angel asked the same stupid question he’d asked the last thousand times, “Do you _really_ believe yourself unworthy of redemption?”

“Yes,” Dean replied, just as he had replied the previous one thousand times. And, like the previous one thousand times he asked Castiel whether or not he, himself should be redeemed.

Castiel replied just as he had the previous one thousand times and would continue to answer until the time came for Dean to realise he wasn’t supposed to become the demon now wielding the First Blade. That he believed both himself and Dean were worthy of redemption.

Dean would be saved. Castiel would see to this, and if it took until time itself ended, he would wait. He had dragged Dean from Perdition once, he would do so again. Dean was his reason for existing. It was that simple and that complicated.

***

Twenty Thousand Days

The white room gave him whatever tools, instruments and devices of torture he wanted and still, Dean couldn’t break Castiel. There seemed to be no limit to the angel’s physical tolerance. Dean picked up a razorblade and approached the angel. The truth was that he was starting to get bored with reducing Castiel to a bloody mess.

“Do you _really_ believe yourself unworthy of redemption?” Castiel asked, again, and Dean rolled his eyes and replied, “Yeah, What about you Cas?” Dean began drawing patterns on Castiel’s flesh. Random lines and squiggles with no discernable pattern.

“No, I believe you worthy of redemption,” Castiel replied. Dean didn’t notice, too busy creating a bloody work of art. For the first time in twenty thousand days, Castiel felt a small flutter of hope. Especially when Castiel looked up into Dean’s eyes and caught a brief glimpse of what Dean had carved into his chest, reflected in the black orbs of the demonic version of the man he loved.

Dean stood back to admire his latest artistic endeavour, but he didn’t crow in triumph like he had before. Instead, he staggered back and swore.   “ **Sam** ,” was carved upon Castiel’s chest.

Dean didn’t know what kind of mind-fuck Castiel had played upon him, but if he thought he was getting away with making Dean write Sam’s name on his body like that, he had another thing coming.

Cas didn’t get to play him like that. Dean’s anger and frustration meant that the next time Castiel reappeared in the white room, he was naked, lying face down on a bed spread-eagled and bound by his hands and feet.

The sting of a cat-o-nine-tails caught Cas unawares and he arched into the mattress in pain.   “Thought I’d spice things up a bit, Cas,” Dean hissed into his ear, “What do you think? Still believe you are redeemable? Think I’m redeemable?”

“Yes,” Castiel winced as the whip struck once more across his bare buttocks. He knew Dean wouldn’t stop torturing him. Not yet, but the fact that Dean had changed tactics from a purely physical torture to what he assumed would be a more effective psychological and sexual torture meant that Castiel was within years, instead of centuries, of saving Dean’s soul.

Joy and hope course through his veins. After all, it had been physical intimacy that had eventually broken through Dean’s defences during the journey back to life from Hell. Castiel only hoped he could stay focused on saving Dean’s soul and not lose himself in having Dean do to him the things Castiel had only ever dreamed.

*** *** ***

Chapter 8: Fissure in the Walls

Dean bought his fingers up to Castiel’s mouth, teasing the angel with the smell of them. Castiel chased his fingers until he caught them with his tongue and bought them back to his mouth. He loved licking clean Dean’s fingers. Especially if they were coated with his own dry cum and smelled of his own body odour. Just like they did now.

Dean would ask if he liked it and Cas wouldn’t answer. He would only answer that when Dean answered “No” to the question of whether he deserved to be a demon or not. A fissure in the walls of the White Room had appeared during the last 1000 days of Dean’s sexual torture. The still demonised Dean didn’t notice, but Castiel did.

Dean replaced his fingers with his dick and fucked Castiel’s mouth roughly, not caring if the angel gagged as his cock rammed down his throat. It was all about getting off, and if somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean enjoyed the feel of Cas’s mouth around his cock and the obscene sounds he made while being fucked, Dean would never admit it.

It was becoming harder to think of Castiel as meat to be abused, tortured and fucked senseless. Dean wasn’t going to admit that either. To do so would be to start questioning whether or not he did deserve this curse. Whether he deserved to bear the Mark of Cain. He was a murderer. He knew this. And yet…

He came with a violent shudder, grabbing Castiel’s hair and pulling his mouth off his dick roughly to expose his neck. The angel looked up at the hunter. There was that same question in his eyes. _“Do you_ really _believe yourself unworthy of redemption?”_

They held each other’s gaze and, to his horror, Dean would feel his eyes sting with unshed tears. Frustrated and confused by his reaction, Dean would quickly beheaded the angel with The First Blade before they fell.

Castiel had seen the tears form and for every day Dean unwillingly reacted in this way to their sexually based torture sessions, the fissure in wall of the white room grew.

The cycle began again.

Castiel naked, displayed in all his perfection before Dean to do with as he wished. He had done so, probing the angel with all manner of tools, ripping him apart with his own fingers, hands and fists. He watched for years as Castitl bucked against the electricity arcing through his body.  

Dean had thrown away the tools in frustration and mapped Castiel’s body with his tongue, fingers and subjected him to constant rape and still the angel _would not break._

***

The Twenty-two thousand and first day

“Do you _really_ believe yourself unworthy of redemption?” Castiel asked again.

22000 days asking the same question and always the same answer from Dean. He wondered at times whether this was his doom, to ask this question, to suffer at his love’s hand for the rest of eternity without ever being able to save him from himself.

Dean had been whipping Castiel across his pelvis and using Cain’s blade to slice through his upper thigh.   He didn’t answer immediately. Castiel was already mentally preparing himself for further abuse when Dean dropped the whip on the floor, plunged the blade into Castiel’s thigh and began ranting angrily at him.

“Fuck It! Cas! Why are you doing this to yourself? I fucking asked Cain for The Mark! Of course I deserve all the crap that comes with it. But, you?! You stupid, self-sacrificing, idiot! You’re stuck here. With Me!”

“Where else would I be, Dean?” Castiel asked momentarily stunned and finding it difficult to believe what he was hearing.

“Fuck, I don’t know! In fucking Heaven. With Sam, helping him. Shit! Having sex and babies with some girl. Anywhere but here in this fucking White Room.” Dean gestured wildly around at the empty room. He turned away from Castiel, frustrated by what he felt. Confused by the fact that he _could_ feel. Wasn’t the point of Cain’s curse to avoid emotions? That’s what being a demon meant, wasn’t it?

Castiel quietly observed the many emotions play across Dean’s face and asked, for the last time.

“Do you _really_ believe yourself _unworthy_ of redemption?”

“Fuck Cas! No. Alright? No! I don’t believe I’m unworthy of redemption. I _know_ that I’m unworthy of redemption. Look at all the damage my choices have done. I broke the first seal that led to Sam falling for that demon bitch and fucking himself into breaking the last seal. I pissed off Michael into using Adam as his angel condom. Sam. Sam was the fucking Devil’s meat suit, for Christ’s sake! I fucked up closing the Gates of Hell because I couldn’t let Sam die. I couldn’t let Sam die, Cas. I can’t let him die, Cas. I can’t let him die.”

Dean’s stumbled to the ground under the weight of that single truth among a myriad of excuses.

“I can’t let him die. I couldn’t let him die, Cas, and he was ready. I don’t deserve to be a demon for hunting those S.O.B’s all my life, but I’m not worthy of redemption because of what I did to Sam. I didn’t let him die.”

The tears of bitterness, self-loathing and self-hate Dean had spent his life, and a good deal of his afterlife, ignoring ran uninterrupted down his cheeks.

Castiel felt his bonds loosen and fall away as the room changed from torture chamber back to neutral white. Another fissure appeared in the walls surrounding them and Dean looked up at Castiel. The First Blade was still stuck in his thigh and blood poured down his leg, pooling around his feet.

“Look what I’ve done to you, Cas. You should be in Heaven and you’re here, bleeding like a stuck pig. Why?” Dean said and bought his hand up to the Blade.

“Do you really not know the answer to that question?” Castiel asked, grabbing Dean’s hands and placing them with his own around the hilt of The First Blade.

“No. Yes. Maybe,” Dean answered, still unwilling to voice his love for Castiel. Castiel smiled but didn’t reply. Instead, he guided Dean’s hands with his own to pull the blade from his thigh.

A true Knight of Hell thrived on hate and pain. Dean’s admittance of guilt, his willingness to accept that perhaps he was worthy of redemption and his feeling towards Castiel combined to break the bond between the Mark of Cain and the First Blade. So that when the blade came out, Dean couldn’t hold it. It fell to the floor and shattered. Dean’s eyes, for so long clouded by the black depths of Hell returned to their natural shade of green.

***

Hunter and Angel stayed seated on the floor for a long time. Eventually, once Castiel’s blood and Dean’s tears dried, Dean looked around. “Why are we still in this room?” he asked, “What is this room?”

Castiel hesitated before answering, “Technically, my grace created this room. We’re in Limbo”

“You created this with your grace?” Dean stood up and faced the angel. Something flared in the dungeons of his sub-conscious, a long forgotten memory or dejá-vu.

Dean looked wildly around the room and the small flare of memory burst into a fully-fledged picture of his demon-self torturing another version of Castiel as they flew upwards towards the light of Earth from the brimstone and fire pits of hell.

“Before, when you dragged me from Hell. I always thought you just grabbed me, fixed me and then shoved me back in my coffin. But I remember another white room. I tortured you. Didn’t I?” Dean said and felt a shiver of revulsion run through his body, “And you put yourself through all that again, just to save me?”

“Yes, I did and I would suffer at your hands until the end of days if it meant redeeming your soul. You are part of my grace, my being, regardless of what you do to remove me from your life.”

Then Castiel kissed Dean. The kiss was unlike any they had previously shared.

Gone was the taste of violence and abuse, instead Castiel’s lips felt soft against Dean’s own. His breath crisp and fresh like earth after a storm. Dean’s lips were slightly chapped and he smelt of leather, gunpowder and bacon.

Dean felt overwhelmed by how much he loved Castiel. He could feel tears well again and pulled away from the angel.

Castiel held Dean’s gaze. “Do you _really_ think I would abandon you Dean? Castiel asked.

“Cas? You’re a masochistic,” Dean rasped and claimed Castiel’s mouth for his own.

*** *** ***

A Change of Scenery

Their kiss was interrupted as the walls of the White Room bowed and buckled until they fell away and revealed an orchard of apple and cherry trees.

Castiel looked at Dean. “Do you know where we are?” Dean asked.

“We’re at Cain’s farm, “The Orchard”, Dean,” Castiel said, he started to explain something to Dean, but the hunter was already walking towards towards Cain’s house.

Inside was as Dean remembered, but the atmosphere didn’t feel heavy with malice as it had when Cain lived. Instead it felt welcoming and warm, like home. He looked at the kitchen table, there were dried flowers in a vase. Upon the mantle, there were photos of a couple in wedding dress and another photo of two children. They didn’t look like Cain and Dean wondered who lived here now.

There was the rumble of an approaching vehicle. Dean looked at Castiel, hardly daring to believe what his ears told him. He walked out onto the porch, Castiel following. “My Baby! Sam!” Dean cried excitedly and ran down the steps to meet them.

Castiel followed, he knew they weren’t out of Limbo yet and they wouldn’t be until Dean had truly forgiven himself. It would mean living in the netherworld for a time until Dean’s self-loathing had worked its way out from his very core and been replaced by a sense of self-worth.

The Impala pulled up and two men and two youths got out. The boy and girl raced through Dean and Castiel and into the house. Dean shivered and looked at Castiel with horror, “I’m a ghost?”

“To them, yes. Listen to them first, Dean. Please, and then I’ll explain everything” Castiel answered and reached out to take Dean’s hand.

***

Chapter 9: Parallel Lives: Sam

“Dean Jr., Amanda, get back out here right now,” Sam called after his two rambunctious children. Gideon smiled and shook his head.

“What makes you think they’ll listen to you this time, Sam?” Pastor Gideon asked.

The older version of the younger Winchester shook his head and chuckled. “I live in hope these days, Pastor, you should know that better than anyone.”

“That why you keep coming here?” Gideon asked, knowing full well the answer.

“Cain managed to find peace here, Gideon. I know this is where Dean and Cas will come back. I know it as you know “Orchard” is where you belong,” Sam said.

“Fair enough, we’ll get the honey while you do the house?” Gideon said as the youngsters flew back down the stairs, passing through Dean and Castiel, back to the car.

“Dad, Dad, somebody’s been in the house. The stuff’s moved.” Amanda tugged at her father’s arm while Dean Jr. chewed on his thumbnail nervously.

“You think its Uncle Dean, Dad?” Dean Jr. asked nervously. Both he and Amanda knew about the supernatural, but the idea that his Uncle Dean would be a ghost had never occurred to him.

“Let me go see, okay kids? You go help Gideon with the honey collection,” Sam said as calmly as he could. Amanda thought anything supernatural was a hoot while her younger brother took it more seriously, much like his namesake had.

“Great. C’mon Dean Jr., unless you want Uncle Dean’s ghost to eat you!” Amanda said and skipped away into the orchard.

“He wouldn’t eat me, would he Dad? He wouldn’t be a mean spirit?” Dean Jr’s voice wavered a little and Sam pulled him into a bear-hug.

“If your uncle Dean came back as a ghost, and that is a big “if,” he would be just like our Uncle Bobby was. You remember me telling you about him?” Sam asked. His son nodded his head against his chest. “So? You have nothing to worry about. Besides, where Uncle Dean goes, so does the angel Castiel and angels aren’t that bad are they?”

“Unless they’re douche-bags like Malachi or that Roderick were,” Dean Jr said, and, now comforted, rushed after his sister to Pastor Gideon and the bees.

Sam watched his kids for a minute or two and then went around to open the trunk. He took out the bouquet of flowers Lilian, his wife, had picked from their garden and the new photo of Dean Jr and Amanda. He walked towards the house, pausing when he came to stand by Dean and Castiel before continuing in.

In the kitchen, he changed the water in a vase, placed the new bouquet in it then walked through the house and out the back door to the compost heap, upon which he threw the wilted flowers before walking back into the house.

In the living room, he placed the latest picture of Dean’s niece and nephew on the mantelpiece before going back into the kitchen and running the tap to pour himself a glass of water. He leaned against the door, looking out over The Orchard and as he’d done for the last decade, spoke aloud to his dead brother.

“Sixty, Dean. Can you believe it? I’ll be sixty next birthday. Amanda’s fourteen going on twenty and Dean’s ten. He’s just like you. Cares too much about what people think. Takes the weight of the world upon his shoulders. Amanda’s a firecracker, like you as well, insofar as she’s inclined to be reckless and a bit of a smart-ass. Thank God they got their mothers looks and common sense. Absolutely no interest in the supernatural. No hunters these two, thank God, or Rachel, or whatever ‘she’ is calling herself these days.”

Dean huffed at Sam air-quoting and reached out to touch him. He couldn’t. It didn’t upset him as much as he thought it would.

“Anyway, I haven’t hunted since they were born. Lilian, as you know, is Gideon’s ward and after the fuck-up with Leah and the whole Whore of Babylon thing, he left and ended up here in Orchard, Missouri. This place is like The Roadhouse, a haven for the world’s oddballs and the wandering hunter. I locked up the Bunker. The key is with your ashes and I’m not inclined to look for them. We’ve been married twenty years now. She works in Dixon during the week, kids stay there and go to school. I run the local store now, Jones’ retired last year. I don’t know exactly when Gideon and I stopped hunting to become Apiarists, but there you go. There is life after hunting.”

Sam stood up and came back into the kitchen. He rinsed the glass, dried it and put it back into the cupboard.

“Come back to us Dean, Castiel. I don’t want to leave things as they were before I die,” Sam said softly and then left to join his friend and children.

***

Parallel Lives: Dean

“What happens now Cas? I’m just supposed to watch him do this to himself? Exist as, what a ghost? Until Sam dies?” Dean asked watching his brother and his children move amongst the beehives and trees.

“I don’t know Dean,” Castiel paused, wondering if explaining what he did would turn Dean’s affection, “There’s something I have to tell you. God appeared to me as a woman. ‘She’ wanted me to kill you and said the Mark of Cain would eat away at your soul leave you demonic. I killed you Dean and brought your soul here, to Limbo, because I didn’t believe you belonged in Hell.”

Dean didn’t answer. He just watched his brother until they all piled back into the Impala and left.

“You did what you had to do, Cas. You know I would have done the same. Already have if you think about the whole Leviathan mess” Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “So, what happens now? What happens to you, Cas?”

“I believe that once you forgive yourself for all of the sins you think you’ve committed, learn to love yourself as Sam loves you, you’ll be able to return to him in one form or another,” Cas said, “I broke rules, disobeyed God to do save you. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, or what will happen if I try to leave.”

“I’m not leaving here without you, Cas,” Dean embraced the angel and kissed him on the forehead. So we stay here? At least for a while?”

“We stay here.” The angel replied returning his hunter’s embrace.

*** *** ***

Parallel Lives: “Rachel” Explains

Sam was in his kitchen, cutting vegetables and thinking about his last visit to “The Orchard”. Sam sensed a change in the farmhouse, it felt ghost-like, but he didn’t want to get his hope up. He’d been misled before, thinking Dean or Cas were close, trying to break whatever barrier that kept them contacting him. It had nearly killed him. Thank God for Lilian. He looked out of the window, over towards his wife and wondered how he’d finally managed to find love after all these years.

“It helped that you finally stopped in one place long enough to call it a home,” a woman’s voice said and Sam jumped up and turned to face the angel, once called Rachel, Castiel’s loyal lieutenant, whom Sam had come to believe was really God.

‘Rachel’ smiled and gently pushed the knife Sam held away from her throat.

“You need a bell or something. What do you want?” Sam snapped then regretted it, because snapping at ‘God’ was probably not a good idea. Then again, this was the same ‘God’ that was responsible, as far as Sam was concerned, for all the shit he and Dean had dealt with their entire lives. Not to mention the giant fuck-up that was the Angelic Host. And, really, why shouldn’t he stab ‘her’ in the throat?

‘Rachel’ smiled broadly and snickered. Sam looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. Gods shouldn’t snicker, should they?

“Oh, for the love of ‘me’, if I didn’t have a good laugh once in a millennia I’d have called it quits on the whole human race eons ago. Now, you should know that Castiel, much to my surprise and delight, has managed to save Dean’s soul.” Sam started to move, but ‘Rachel’ stopped him. “He’s not saved yet. Castiel returned him to human, the taint of Cain’s Mark has left him, but Dean has to forgive himself before he can leave Limbo.”

“Limbo?” Sam asked.

“Limbo. Which for Dean and Castiel is conveniently located at Cain’s Orchard,” ‘Rachel’ stated.

Sam sat back down, put his hands on the table and breathed deeply. This was good news. Castiel had saved Dean from spending eternity as a Knight of Hell. This was bad news. Sam knew his brother and even with Castiel by his side, he would not rest until he contacted Sam.

That would make it easier for Dean to fall prey to ghost madness and insanity. Bobby had succumbed and he was one of the strongest people he and Dean had ever known.

“Do you two have so little faith in me?” ‘Rachel’ asked rhetorically and tisk-tisked. “Being in Limbo does not make either Dean or Castiel a ghost or malevolent spirit. Trust yourself, Sam Winchester. If you cannot trust that, this time, I have made things right with the universe… then, what?”

Sam looked up to find the room empty except for himself.   Trusting himself was something Sam still had difficulty believing achievable.   He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. Perhaps that was the point, he and Dean would have a chance to see each other again, when Dean had learnt to forgive himself and Sam had learnt to trust himself.

*** *** ***

Chapter 10: Life in Limbo

They transitioned from friends to lovers without much trouble. It was as if both knew that from the moment Castiel touched Dean’s soul in Hell, they were fated to be together. Lying in Castiel’s arms, Dean wondered why he had fought so hard to deny himself this love. He turned to face Castiel. The angel smiled and moved so he lay on his back, drawing Dean closer so his head rested upon his heart. Dean liked to listen to the sound of Cas’s heart-beating, it soothed all his worries.

“Do you still believe you’re unworthy of redemption, Dean?” Cas gently teased, kissing the top of Dean’s head.

“Not if you’re redeeming me,” Dean teased back. Dean placed a kiss on Castiel’s cheek and got up to use the bathroom. It had become their standard morning greeting.

He came back and they lay together quietly. Tears formed in Dean’s eyes and he let them flow unheeded, safe in Castiel’s arms and knowing that they were healing tears and not bad. He had a lifetime’s worth of repressed emotion and this daily routine was part of his road to redemption.

When the tears were spent, Dean got up and took a shower. Sometimes, Castiel would join him in the shower and breakfast would be even later than normal. Today, Dean had the shower to himself and when he came out, Castiel had already made the bed. Dean went downstairs and joined him in the kitchen.

He and Castiel had laid claim to the farmhouse. Dean wasn’t sure exactly how it worked, he and Castiel weren’t really ghosts but neither did they live on the same plane of existence as Sam and his family.

Dean and Castiel were in Limbo, waiting for the chance to, maybe, return to the living world.

Sam was mortal, happily married and living his life free from the worry of hunting.

Their lives passed like ships in the night. Dean and Castiel observed, but could not partake in Sam’s life. Sam knew Dean and Castiel were nearby, but couldn’t break through the veil.

It should have driven both Winchesters insane, but it didn’t. Sam knew Castiel would take care of Dean and that helped him begin to accept and truly trust in himself.   Dean got to see Sam live his “apple pie” life and it helped him to let go the weight of parental care placed upon him by his father toward Sam. That, in turn, allowed Dean to begin to learn to forgive himself and accept himself for who he was, not who others described him as being.

***

Their parallel existence continued for ten years.

Sam aged a more gracefully than Dean. Dean assumed this was because of Lilian and Gideon being in his life. Lilian accepted Sam, accepted his past, and the strangeness that was attached to his present. Gideon helped ground his past to the present without the threat of dragging him back into the hunting life.

Dean Jr grew into an awkward teenager, then a cocky teenager when he discovered he had a knack for cars and weaponry, something which Sam reluctantly encouraged. He liked the fact that interests his brother and son had shared interests.

Dean Jr did well enough in school, but he wasn’t going to be a college kid and his parents were thankful when a mechanic in Dixon offered the boy an apprenticeship. Sam figured having a job to do would keep him out of trouble.

Amanda took after her father. She was smart, good-looking and shy. After graduating top of the class in her high school, she went to college. Sam and Lilian had expected her to study something purely academic, but there was a practical streak that ran through her which Sam liked to say came from her Uncle Dean.

She became a grade school teacher to earn money and kept studying anthropology for her own edification. Amanda told her father it was her way of keeping up the “family business,” minus the dirty practicalities of dealing and killing the supernatural. Sam expected her to come asking him for the keys to the Men of Letters Bunker any day now.

Every weekend Sam, sometimes accompanied by another family member or entire family, would visit “The Orchard” and talk to Dean and Castiel.

Castiel would watch as Dean spoke with Sam as if the veil between their worlds didn’t exist. Dean made some teasing comment about Sam being under his wife, Lilian’s, thumb.

“Whipped,” Dean had teased and Castiel had smacked him on the backside to make a point that Sam wasn’t the only one domesticated. Dean pretended horror at the thought of himself domesticated. The truth was he loved his current life, or afterlife, or whatever the hell you called life in Limbo.

*** *** ***

God, as “Rachel”, looked upon Dean in Limbo and saw that his soul was finally at peace. She looked upon Castiel and saw his grace purged of all stain, once again pure love. She smiled, it was time for Dean and Castiel to return to Earth and live out the remainder of Dean’s mortal life peacefully amongst family and friends. She could think of no greater reward for The Righteous Man and His Angel.

*** *** ***

Chapter 11: The Veil Falls Down

“Dad, c’mon! You’re holding up the show,” Dean Jr called to his father. Sam huffed out a frustrated mumble and Lilian laughed. “We’re coming, hold your horses,” She called out to the impatient youth.

“What’s the hurry, son?” Sam followed Lilian out onto the front porch and stared down at the sight in front of him. Dean Jr was beaming, standing next to something that must once have been a car but just now looked like an accident waiting to happen.

“Isn’t she a beauty?! She’s a Shelby GT500, 427ci side oiler engine, 725 Holley 4 barrel carburettor, 4 speed transmission, Kelsey-Hayes Magstar Wheels, inbound headlights. And yeah, she needs a bit of work; steering, brakes and body are all shot to shit and the interior’s baked, but the engine’s good, wheels are good and she’s never been wrecked just unloved and man, how could somebody not love this?!” Dean Jr gestured grandly to the car and drew breath. “Wanna go for a ride?” he asked Sam.

“Do I have to?” Sam muttered to Lilian, who smacked him on the bottom and just looked at him as if he were daft. Sam smiled and made his way down to the car and his son. “How’d you get her?” he asked, curious how Dean Jr could afford such a car, even if one so apparently damaged.

“Boss’s friend had it for ages but he can’t do anything more with it, so he gave it to the Boss. He knew I wanted a car, so we’ve come to an arrangement. He’ll buy the parts and let me work on her in lieu of wage until I get her fixed up and if that’s more than its market value I keep it. If it’s not more than its market value, I keep it and he’ll deduct a little each week till the difference is made up,” Dean Jr rattled off as he opened the passenger door for Sam and watched his father slide stiffly into the car.

“That doesn’t sound fair, Dean,” Sam said.

“Dad, it’s a ’67 Shelby GT500 and I’m barely twenty, of course it’s unfair. But, I also have a license to carry firearms and know how to use them. Which I pointed out to my boss, you know, just in case he ever thought of cheating me more than he probably already has.” Dean Jr turned and grinned at his father and Sam caught his breath. He forgot how like Dean, Dean Jr actually was.

“Your uncle would love you, son. Not sure he’d love your choice of car, but he’d love you,” Sam said with fondness as the car roared into life and they drove out to Cain’s Orchard.

They pulled up in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes. Amanda had the weekend off from work and study and had come down from Dixon the night before. She liked to camp out amongst the trees of “The Orchard” whenever she came home for the weekend. It was something she held onto from when she briefly joined the Girl Scouts.

She was coming downstairs from the farmhouse, having used the bathroom and kitchen as her brother pulled up in the driveway. She smiled at her brother and father. “So RustEze got you here safely, Dad. I’m amazed,” she teased.

Dean Jr reacted as she knew he would. “Cut it out, Armada my baby’s sensitive. And she’s not rusty.” He puffed up with wounded pride.

“Oh, she’s not is she, that’s just her paint colour? Well it’s a crappy colour if that’s the case,” Amanda tossed lightly back.

Dean Jr returned the insult, “Say what you want. She’s still a thing of beauty. Not like Nathanial’s poor excuse for a car.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Nathanial’s car. It’s considerate of the environment, that’s all.” Amanda bristled. Her boyfriend’s car was one of the new hybrids on the market and personally she hated it, but she refused to acknowledge that in front of her little brother.

“Sweetheart, there is _everything_ wrong with Nathanial’s car, good environment cred or not,” Dean Jr. said and bounded up the stairs, into the house.

Dean and Castiel were sitting on the love-seat on the front porch, watching, unseen as usual, as the siblings teased each other without comment. Dean rose and made his way down the stairs and to the car. Dean Jr was right, she was a thing of beauty. Nothing like the Impala, but then again, what car could be?

***

Castiel was the only one who noticed the change in the atmosphere. He was the only one who felt the tremor underfoot as the veil between Limbo and Earth fell. He lifted his face heavenwards and offered up a prayer of thanks. A gentle breeze blew across the front lawn and Castiel felt a gentle hand caress his chin and a voice whisper in his head, _“Live well, my son and blessings upon those you love.”_

***

Dean Jr suddenly rushed out of the house and down the steps, shouting, “Hey, you! Don’t touch my car!”

Dean turned to look at his nephew. “You see me?”

“Of course I see you! Now back away from my wheels,” Dean Jr said.

The old man in front of him stared at him for a long time and then started to laugh. It was a deep gruff laugh, a little like his father’s but rougher sounding. It set him on edge.

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. “Backing away son. She’s a beauty. Not as good as my baby, but she’s a good car. You treat her right, hear me?”

Sam had followed his son outside and stood at the top of the stairs and stared down at the two men beside the car.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said moving from the love-seat to stand beside the younger Winchester. “It’s been a while.”

Sam turned and stumbled awkwardly backwards down the top two steps before regaining his composure.

“Castiel? Dean?” he stuttered, looking from one to the other. The angel just smiled. Dean looked up towards the house from where he was standing beside Dean Jr.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, voice shaking with emotion, “Sammy? You see us?”

“Yeah,” Sam said coming down the porch stairs towards his brother, “Yeah, Dean, I see you.”

The two embraced, not willing to let the other go in case this turned out to be some cruel trick of fate.

Amanda came out onto the porch and looked down. “Who’s that?” She called down to her brother who was looking at his father as if he’d lost his mind.

“Your Uncle, Dean,” Castiel answered. Amanda jumped at the sound of his voice. Then, with a look remiscent of Sam solving a problem, she looked from Castiel to her father embracing Dean, then back to Castiel.

Castiel tilted his head to the side and waited for her to say something. “So, not ghosts?” She asked.

Castiel chuckled, that wasn’t a question he was expecting. “No, not ghosts.” He answered.

“How? What happened? How?” Sam stammered, hardly believing Dean was in front of him, flesh and blood.

“How should I know? Cas has the answers. I’m so glad you can see me, Sammy. I was there, listening, all the time,” Dean said and felt tears fall from his eyes. It didn’t matter, Sam was crying as well.

“Dad? Who is that?” Dean Jr asked. Amanda had come down from the house and was standing next to her brother. Castiel watched from the porch.

“This is your Uncle, Dean. Dean, this is my daughter Amanda and my son Dean Jr,” Sam said, arm around his brother, beaming at his kids.

“Hey, Amanda, Dean Jr,” Dean said and held out his hand. Dean Jr shook hands without thinking, and then withdrew his hand quickly when his sister didn’t follow suit. Dean shared a look with Sam, who just kept staring at his brother.

Castiel came down from the farmhouse to join them, standing next to Dean with his hand resting upon his shoulder, over his faded handprint.

“Prove it,” Amanda challenged.

“Yeah, prove it. Otherwise my Dad will kick your undead body back to Hell,” Dean said.

Sam looked shocked but Dean just laughed, “Yeah? Well, hate to break it to ya kid, been there, done that, got the hand print to prove it.”

“Really? Show me?” Dean Jr asked, forgetting he was supposed to be threatening the old man standing in front of him.

His father had told him and Amanda all about his Hunting life with his brother Dean. Both of them had loved the especially bloody tales and they loved hearing about how Dean was rescued by an angel form Hell. Of course, they had just believed most of their father’s tales to be just fiction. Now, even Amanda came a little closer and both Winchester children gaped in awe when Dean pulled up his T-shirt enough for them to see the faded handprint of Castiel’s.

“Son of a Bitch! You really did all those things you told us about, Dad, you’re Awesome!” She hugged Sam, “Hey, Castiel?” Amanda turned to the watching angel on the porch. “Show us your wings!”

“Amanda!” Sam snapped at his daughter. Dean laughed and Castiel simply turned and went back inside the house.

“What did I say?” Amanda asked.

Dean Jr shrugged and neither her father nor uncle answered her question. Instead, they made their way slowly into the house. There was lots to catch up with and even more to explain to the next generation of Winchesters.

*** *** ***

”Damnit! Cas, just shoot me. Now!” Dean’s frustrated growl drifted from the bathroom. “Seriously, how can you stand being around me? I smell like piss. Friggin’ legs look like I wear fishnets. I’m arthritic. Ow, great, nicked m’self, damn useless old fart.”

Dean grumbled from bathroom to bedroom where he waivered a little before flopping onto the bed. Castiel turned on his side and began to lazily caress Dean’s lower back. The complaining and frustration were part of Dean’s morning routine.

These days the complaining concerned his aging body, greying hair and constant heartburn. In younger years it had been complaints about hunting, or Sam, or Cas himself. Whatever his incarnation, Dean was not a morning person. It made Castiel smile.

“I like the way you smell, Dean. It pleases me. Especially after sex when you reek of sweat and dried sardine,” Cas moved so he could gently massage Dean’s shoulders as he spoke. “And you don’t smell like piss. You smell of musk and dampness and earth and occasionally, of recycled burrito.”

Dean huffed indignantly but let himself lean back against Castiel. Cas moved his hands so they played across Dean’s chest, skimming across the faded protection tattoo and up to the barely noticeable scar on his right upper arm. He nuzzled lazily against Dean’s neck. Dean relaxed and let his lover soothe him into the day.

Castiel drew Dean back onto the bed proper, propping himself against the headboard and guiding Dean until they were both comfortably lying on the bed. Dean’s head rested upon Castiel’s chest and Cas’s legs wrapped around his. Dean ran traced lazy figures of eight up and down Castiel’s thighs while Cas continued covering his neck with ghostlike kisses.

Dean loved the warmth of Castiel. It eased his physical aches and pains and made this life, their existence and his curse bearable. He closed his eyes and let the warmth of Castiel and his love soothe his body and soul until the emotions became unbearable and tears welled in his eyes.

This outpouring of emotion was also part of Dean’s morning routine. He’d hated it at first, believed it to be a sign of weakness. Castiel reminded him that the ability to feel was what had allowed him to be saved when it looked like Cain’s Mark would consume his soul and damn him once again to Hell.

Dean could no longer remember the exact details of how Castiel had finally saved him from the Mark of Cain. When they had first moved to The Orchard he had suffered nightmares where he was in a white room, a bloody knife in his hand and the mutilated bodies of a hundred Castiel surrounding him.

Neither man spoke when the tears began to fall. They just lay together, loved and beloved. When Dean had shed the last tear, Cas kissed him on the top of his head and said it was time to get up. Dean grumbled half-heartedly and once again made his way from bedroom to bathroom. Once dressed he shuffled out to the kitchen.

Castiel joined him there and they each poured a cup of coffee and made toast before going outside to sit on the porch. This, too, was part of their morning routine. To sit quietly in the morning light and reminisce. They didn’t speak until the hall clock chimed the hour.

“10 o’clock? Up early today,” Dean said.

“Tuesday,” Cas answered.

“Oh…Honey delivery then. I forget what time,” Dean muttered.  

“Five o’clock, but Amanda said she’d leave the door unlocked if we were late” Cas said.

“She is way too trusting,” Dean’s smile was reflected in Castiel’s eyes. His gaze dropped to his left forearm, “It’s barely noticeable.”

“Ache much?” Cas asked and reached across to lightly touch Cain’s Mark.

“Not today, maybe it’s the bees. He always did like working with bees,” Dean mused, covering Cas’s hand with his.

“I like bees,” Cas turned his hand over and entwined his fingers with Dean’s.

“Yeah, Cas, I remember,” Dean chuckled at the memory… “ _Dude, on my car, he showed up naked, covered in bees.”_ _He wondered idly if it was that day he wanted more from Cas. Or more of Cas, wanted him physically? Wanted to be that bee perched right on the tip of his…_

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice shook Dean from his memories.

“What, Cas?” Dean looked affectionately towards his lover.

“The honey won’t collect itself,” Cas said and made his way down the steps towards the beehives. Setting his mug down, Dean followed Cas down the steps and towards the beehives.

Their house sat in the middle of an orchard and the beehives sat in the middle of a row of Cherry trees. The bees were Castiel’s domain, Dean helping him harvest the honey for local markets. The orchard had apple trees as well and Dean discovered he made a pretty mean apple cider. Castiel helped him press and sell the bottled product at local markets. A local bakery harvested the cherries for their famous cherry pie.

Every Sunday Sam and Lilian come over for lunch, sometimes Dean Jr or Amanda will join them but they have their own lives to live. Lives far removed from Hunting and the general weirdness of their Uncle Dean and Castiel.

Dean is happy here and that makes Castiel happy. “The Orchard” is their heaven on Earth.  

***


End file.
